


A Change of Plans

by wistfulpisces



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Albus Severus is tired of his best friends' shit, Angst, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, HP: Epilogue Compliant, Harry Potter - Freeform, Harry Potter Next Generation, Next-Gen, Not Harry Potter and the Cursed Child Compliant, Pining, Ravenclaw!Scorpius, Scorpius is Trying his best, Slow Burn, but not so much that you'll bang your head against your keyboard, or at least i hope not
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-19
Updated: 2017-10-08
Packaged: 2018-09-07 01:08:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8777116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wistfulpisces/pseuds/wistfulpisces
Summary: Scorpius was not the type of person who wanted to stand out from a crowd.
His bright white-blond hair and tall, lanky frame said otherwise, but he did not enjoy the attention that he was generally met with when in public. He would much rather go about his business unbothered, without being harassed because of the expectations attached to his family name, thank you very much.
Then he goes to Hogwarts and meets the whirlwind that is Rose Weasley.
Things don’t exactly turn out the way he planned after that.





	1. All Aboard

“Are you _sure_ you’re comfortable with side-along?” Scorpius’ mother leant in close to him, worry etched into the subtle lines of her face as she repeated the question he’d heard countless times over the previous week. “Absolutely certain?”

It took immense self-restraint not to roll his eyes and huff.

Scorpius settled for an exasperated sigh, reassuring his mother once more that side-along apparition would be perfectly fine. He knew that her concern was not without good reason, as this type of apparition required the strength of a powerful wizard and had devastating results if not performed correctly. He had heard enough stories of the horrors of splinching to understand what was going through his mother’s mind.

Despite the fact that his parents would endure the task without complaint for his sake, Scorpius was unwilling to put them through the agonising tedium of automobile travel. For them, he would deal with the discomfort of side-along.

Astoria Malfoy nodded in a resigned manner, straightening and calling to her husband. Draco appeared after a moment, fastening the buttons on his dark coat up to his throat as he descended the stairs. His posture and appearance were befitting of royalty – a habit no doubt formed in his youth, where cracks in one’s façade had had deadly potential. However, his facial expression showed support and affection as he gazed down at his son, silently asking the question already voiced by Astoria – giving Scorpius one final chance to change his mind.

During weary evening talks, her guard its most tenuous, Scorpius’ mother had hinted to him the kind of man Draco had once been. A few years his junior, at Hogwarts she had found him intimidating, cold, and closed off. She had only been convinced otherwise after giving voice to concerns about her sister, Daphne, being friends with the man. It appeared that Daphne had been privy to a more humane, benevolent side of him.

Scorpius suspected that a combination of entering into fatherhood and the loss of Draco’s own father had contributed to a change in his demeanour. Never had he been exposed to a disposition such as the one of which his mother spoke. To him, Draco was simply a loving, warm father. He never lied to his son and was firm when necessity required it, but his heart was open.

Travelling to platform nine and three-quarters was neither as terrifying nor as painful as Scorpius' imagination had predicted, though it was by no means pleasant. For the briefest of moments he felt suffocated: his father's arm was the only tangible object in existence as darkness pressed impossibly in on him and some incorporeal force attempted to squeeze him into a vessel in which no human could fit –

The feeling passed promptly when he felt solid ground beneath his feet, though a certain breathlessness remained. Scorpius gingerly released his father's arm, only just resisting the urge to feel for his limbs and instead deciding to visually confirm their continued attachment to him.

Draco gave him a fond, knowing look as Astoria appeared next to them with Scorpius' luggage in tow. It had been decided that friends of his parents would bring his beloved Barred Owl with their family to the platform, rather than risking apparition with him or tasking him with a flight halfway across England. Scorpius knew that neither of the latter options would find favour with the irritable owl.

They had arrived early, on a far corner of the platform, to ensure that there would be ample space for their safe travel – even if the particulars of their journey had not gone to plan. After lifting his suitcase onto the train, Scorpius waited in companionable silence with his parents, idly observing families streaming onto the platform and delighting in the reactions of excitable children who had evidently passed through the wall for the first time. He was entranced by the thick white steam that poured from the scarlet Hogwarts Express, imbuing the entire platform with a dreamy quality. In time, it rendered the surrounding occupants of the platform as mere indistinct figures, seeming to float through the air.

From the corner of his eye, Scorpius noticed a flash of bright red hair bouncing through the vapour. He turned slightly, aware that his father had had the same reaction to the sight, and his eyes fell on two families he knew to be the Potters and the Weasleys: four adults – two with red hair vivid enough to be seen even through the mist – and five children, three of whom had matching red hair. The movement of the child who had caught his attention appeared to already be dressed in her Hogwarts robes. Scorpius strained his ears to listen to the group without drawing attention to himself.

“If you’re not in Gryffindor, we’ll disinherit you,” he heard Mr Weasley say loudly, “but no pressure.”

Scorpius’ eyebrows furrowed minutely, hoping that the man was joking. He had briefly spoken to his parents about his wish not to be sorted into Slytherin, as he felt that the House’s values didn’t suit him. They had understood, and welcomed his desire to be true to himself.

For a moment the steam thinned, and it became clear that the group were staring at Scorpius and his parents – his father in particular. His eyes flickered to his father’s face in time to see an unnamed emotion flit across it, which would have been undetectable if not for their proximity. Draco nodded curtly to the group standing some fifty yards away and turned to his son.

“Don’t try to turn them against each other before they’ve even started school!” Mrs Granger’s voice drifted through the mist, and Draco momentarily shut his eyes at the statement. Opening them, he stared into his son’s eyes in a way that always made Scorpius feel as if his father was reading his mind. Astoria silently moved to stand beside her husband.

“Scorpius,” Draco began in a low voice, “I want you to promise me that you won’t let anything anyone says get to you.”

“Of course I won’t, Dad. They're just words.” Draco’s piercing stare did not lift, but his face softened a little at his son’s words.

“If there’s anything you need, anything at all, send us an owl and we'll do what we can, okay?” Scorpius frowned at his father’s uncharacteristically grave face and his mother’s mute nod of agreement.

“I know, thank you.” Scorpius smiled a little in an attempt to lighten the mood, though he was all too aware that the train's departure was imminent.

Astoria’s lips twisted into a watery smile before she reached out to hug her son. “I love you, Scorp,” she whispered into his hair. “Don’t forget to write, won’t you?”

“I promise,” he replied, releasing her.

Draco bent a little to embrace his son. “You’ll have the time of your life, Scorp,” he said soothingly, sensing Scorpius’ nerves. “You’ll flourish there.”

“Thanks, Dad,” Scorpius muttered in return.

Within minutes Scorpius had stepped onto the train, feeling an exhilarated fluttering in his stomach as he waved goodbye to his parents. Once their figures had faded into the distance, he turned to search for an empty carriage, with unbidden curiosity regarding a redheaded fellow first-year rising in the back of his mind.


	2. "Malfoy, Scorpius!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, loves.
> 
> So I know it's been quite a while since I've updated this fic, but I really do have some exciting ideas for it. However, I struggle with motivation and confidence. Kudos and comments would be unbelievably appreciated, so please feel free to tell me what you liked, what you didn't like and what you'd like to see in future chapters.
> 
> Thanks for reading, hope you enjoy this chapter!

Scorpius found an empty compartment quickly. Although he was soon joined by a boisterous group of children, he sensed that they were older than him and would not be entirely welcoming of his joining in with them, so he kept his head buried in his charms book and tried to fold himself into the corner as much as possible. The group left in search of the sweets trolley, so he took the chance to change into his robes and enjoy the blissful reprieve from noise.

The train soon stopped, and as he knew that the older students would return for their luggage soon, Scorpius hurried to gather his things and exit the train.

Journeying across the lake, Scorpius couldn’t help but echo the oohs and aahs of his fellow first years: the castle truly was magnificent, and it lived up to every ounce of its reputation for beauty. He distantly wished for a camera, so that he could have some way to record the monumental moment.

“It’s really something, isn’t it?” whispered the black-haired boy sitting next to him. In the dark, Scorpius saw that the boy hadn’t taken his bespectacled gaze off of the castle: he was clearly in awe. Scorpius had barely noticed him climbing into the boat next to him, along with two girls he could hear speaking quietly behind them.

The blond boy couldn’t stop the grin that bloomed across his face. “Yeah. Yeah, it definitely is.”

The first-years finally reached land. Scorpius turned and extended a hand to help his companion out of their boat. As the other boy climbed out, he stepped into the light and Scorpius had to restrain a gasp. The boy looked up, his brief word of thanks trailing off as he, too, realised who was staring back at him.

“Move, Al. You’re blocking my way,” came an impatient voice from behind them.

The two boys hastily moved to the side. A slow smile crept onto the shorter boy’s face, and he held out a hand. “Albus Potter, nice to meet you.”

“Scorpius Malfoy, nice to meet you, too.” Scorpius’ heart was pounding, but Albus seemed affable and genuine. He smiled in response, and the two turned and made their way to the castle together.

“Which house are you hoping for?” Scorpius asked quietly. He knew that it could be a potentially touchy subject, but his curiosity won out over his sense of decorum.

“Gryffindor, of course.” Albus flashed him a grin: everyone knew that the Potters and the Weasleys were largely a Gryffindor clan. “I guess it doesn’t really matter, but I feel like I belong there.”

There was a pause, and Albus’ expression faltered slightly.

“I suppose you’re hoping for Slytherin, then?”

“No, actually.” Scorpius’ eyes flickered downwards. “I don’t really know which one I’d like to be in, but I don’t really mind in the end.”

Albus’ eyes seemed to gleam, but then again, it could have just been the light.

“You know, Scorpius, I think we’ll get on fantastically.”

Scorpius felt a certain warmth brimming in his stomach, like the soft glow of a candle, and he thought that his delight might have been all too obvious on his face. His previously crushing apprehension lessened somewhat.

They were given a small welcoming speech in the Entrance Hall by Professor Marfleet, the Deputy Headmaster, and then they were engulfed by the brightness, noise and warmth of the Great Hall. Scorpius felt overexposed with his white-blond hair and his too-tall stature. He instinctively put his head down a little, feeling like an exhibit in a zoo. Albus glanced at him and nudged him gently with his elbow in an encouraging way. Scorpius shot him a tiny smile in return for the small comfort.

The group gathered far closer than was strictly necessary, their collective worry seeming to draw them together like penguins huddling for warmth. In front of them was a stool on which the weathered and tattered Sorting Hat sat. Quiet settled in the hall, and Scorpius’ stomach swooped uneasily. Then a rip opened near the Hat’s brim and it burst into song.

The song ended and was immediately replaced by enthusiastic applause. A current of nervous excitement swept through the first-years, and the Sorting began.

Names started to be called, and Scorpius’ eyes slipped shut. _Not Slytherin,_ he silently begged. _Please – not Slytherin._

“Macmillan, Henry!”

Scorpius’ eyes flew open in time to see a small blond boy all but bouncing in his seat on the stool, wide eyes only just visible beneath the hat’s brim.

“HUFFLEPUFF!”

A lump settled in Scorpius’ throat. He knew that he would be called soon.

“Malfoy, Scorpius!”

The fervent applause that had followed the Hufflepuff boy’s Sorting immediately dulled, and within a few moments it had ceased entirely. It was instead replaced by hushed whispers.

“Good luck,” Albus muttered, his tone light.

Scorpius resisted the urge to simply crumble into himself, and somehow made his wobbling legs take him to the stool. The hat fell over his eyes, obscuring his vision entirely.

“A Malfoy, hmm?” he heard the hat say – only, the sound seemed to be a foreign entity inside of his head. “I could put you in Slytherin, there’s definitely a need to prove yourself… and there’s determination there – values hard work… perhaps – hmm… yes, that’s it. RAVENCLAW!”

Scorpius sighed in relief as he took the hat off and went to the Ravenclaw table, sharing a passing glance with Albus on the way. A first-year girl – ‘Cresswell, Daisy’ – already seated there congratulated him, beaming sincerely.

Albus was sorted into Gryffindor and Scorpius cheered for him, happy that the kind boy had gotten his wish.

There were intrigued murmurs throughout the hall for the third time when ‘Weasley, Rose’ was called. The hat seemed to barely touch her head before it shouted, “GRYFFINDOR!” She quickly ran to sit at the Gryffindor table, and Albus patted her on the back in congratulations. Scorpius watched with interest as matching expressions of glee graced the cousins’ faces.

Finally, ‘Zuker, Georgia’ was sorted into Slytherin, and the Sorting Hat and its accompanying stool were removed. After a few words from Headmistress McGonagall, the feast began.

Scorpius ate quietly, marvelling at the Hall’s grandeur around him – something he must admit that he was used to, but not to this extent – and at the flurry of movement on all sides, and the pure happiness that almost radiated from the student body at large. He smiled to himself, making an effort to contribute to the conversations between other Ravenclaw first-years. He dearly hoped that Hogwarts would become a place where he could feel truly at home.


	3. Pining Does Not Become a Malfoy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Scorpius, you poor thing. Don't worry, it'll get better.
> 
> Thank you for reading, please feel free to leave kudos and comments. I'll love you even more than I already do.
> 
> Just a note that I'm Australian, so I use British English spelling. And also, funnily enough, the idea for this chapter first started taking shape due to huge train delays.

Scorpius decided very quickly that classes were madness.

Or, more accurately, _getting_ to his classes was madness.

He had heard, of course, about the staircases that liked to change and the doors that disappeared, and he knew before ever laying eyes on the castle that it was not only a labyrinth, but a sprawling one. However, nothing he’d heard could have prepared him for the challenge of simply finding a designated classroom.

As the weeks crept by, the task grew easier, and Scorpius began to truly settle in to life at Hogwarts. He had grown up around magic and opulence, but there was something indescribable about the castle that fascinated him. He loved the idea that he could never know all of its secrets; it was a fluid entity that not only housed its inhabitants, but consumed them. Hogwarts was full of wonder and warmth, with undiscovered beauty always hiding just behind the nearest tapestry or around the corner in the next corridor.

The first night, after the start of term feast, Scorpius laid awake worrying to no avail whether he would be required to spend an unfortunate amount of class time with the Slytherins. The rational part of his mind gently reminded him that immense work had been done since the Battle of Hogwarts to break down House and blood discrimination, but a louder voice questioned whether they might resent him for breaking his family’s Slytherin tradition. House discrimination was one thing, but House pride was entirely another – the latter being an enduring part of student life at Hogwarts. Needless to say, Scorpius had been privately overjoyed when he had found out that the first-year Ravenclaws and Gryffindors were paired together for most of their classes.

He found that his classes, once located, were everything he had wanted them to be. He had surprised himself with a particular proclivity for charms, and he revelled in the beam Professor Flitwick bestowed on him, as the first student in his class to master a Levitating Charm. Likewise, a surreptitious twinkle appeared in Professor Marfleet’s eye when he successfully transfigured a matchstick into a thin and pointy, if slightly rusted, needle. The potions rooms were cold and had a dampness that clung to his bones, but there, too, he seemed to have talent. In Herbology, he struggled to memorise the complicated names of exotic plants and insects. But Professor Longbottom was kind and vivacious, and the greenhouses were always filled with vibrant greenery that (although probably potentially deadly) breathed life into his lungs. Astronomy with the centaur Firenze was always interesting, despite his finding it immensely confusing. Even History of Magic, where creepy Professor Binns taught the bloodied, conflict-ridden history of wizards and magical creatures, he enjoyed.

The class he looked forward to the most, though it was not his best subject, was Defence Against the Dark Arts. It was one he shared with the Gryffindors, and was therefore never a dull hour. He sat next to Albus, and even when they had theory lessons and were restricted to their seats, the pair shared the comfort and ease of young friendship. In fact, Scorpius often spent breakfast and lunch hours seated next to his best friend, too.

He had to admit, it was still strange to even say that he had a best friend. Before Albus, the person he had always been closest to in the world was his mother — not that he was particularly fond of divulging that piece of information. Scorpius had merely always been a little unsociable, a little too quiet.

A little wary.

But Hogwarts had changed that. Within the space of just a few months, he and Albus had become close friends. Scorpius delighted in Albus’ easygoing nature and ready humour, and his ability to distill Scorpius’ occasional self-conscious awkwardness.

In one particular Defence class, while learning about the numerous ways to identify a werewolf, Albus had a tinge of private amusement to his expression that Scorpius couldn’t understand. He valiantly tried to ignore the distraction his curiosity presented, but there was a reason he was sorted into Ravenclaw rather than Gryffindor.

“Al,” he finally whispered, nudging him gently. “What is it?”

Albus snorted, his quill continuing to move deftly across his page. _Human-like eyes._

Not willing to push the bespectacled boy any further, Scorpius tried his best to pay attention to Professor Dodderidge for the remainder of the lesson, however his focus drifted several times. _The most telling difference between a werewolf and a natural wolf is its behaviour._

In his peripheral vision, Scorpius noticed Albus shaking his head and wearing an approximation of a suppressed grin. He carefully placed his quill back into its ink pot and crossed his arms, directing an expectant look at his friend. Albus glanced at his raised eyebrows and gave a small sigh, but his quill remained in motion.

“You’re staring,” Albus said out of the corner of his mouth.

“I just don’t like being left out of a joke, is all.”

At that, Albus’ eyes seemed to twinkle with glee.

“Oh come off it, Scorp.” He spared a moment to look at Scorpius once again, and added: “I didn’t mean at me.”

Scorpius only frowned.

“You really don’t realise?” A matching expression of confusion claimed Albus’ features.

Scorpius shook his head.

A shadow of a grin tugged at the corner of Albus’ mouth, and he jerked his head forward in lieu of a verbal answer.

Scorpius’ gaze followed his motion, and he realised the shorter boy had gestured to Rose Weasley, who sat in front and to the right of the pair. Her wild red curls obscured whatever view of her face the angle would have otherwise afforded him.

Albus momentarily closed his eyes at his friend’s cluelessness. Although it may have appeared as if he were praying to the heavens for help, he was only suppressing what would have been a loud groan if he were not in class.

After a pause, Scorpius asked slowly, “I’ve been... staring at Rose?”

Albus cleared his throat quietly and nodded, only just managing not to roll his eyes. He suspected that his face conveyed his feelings of _yes-you-idiot_ nonetheless. “More often than you know, clearly.”

Scorpius looked horrified; Albus once again struggled not to openly laugh.

“Mate, you look all dreamy and lovelorn. ‘S a bit gross to have you mooning over my cousin.”

“I am not _mooning_ over her,” Scorpius said, sounding thoroughly scandalised.

His only response was a shrug from his best friend. _Whatever you say._

_A mixture of dittany and powdered silver applied to a fresh bite will seal the wound._

In the coming weeks, Scorpius made an effort to notice if he was staring at Rose. Or thinking about her often. Or wondering what she was doing, or how she was finding the classwork. Or what exactly she was saying to Diana Coote that made them both laugh so heartily.

It pained him to admit it, but Albus was right.

It wasn’t that he had a crush on her, she just had a way of piquing his curiosity. She hadn’t been particularly open to the idea of Albus and Scorpius being friends, and was initially intensely wary around him. He disliked that his presence at the Gryffindor table during breakfast sometimes made her uncomfortable, so upon reaching this realisation, he reverted back to sitting at his House table. One morning he resolutely shook his head against Albus’ waving him over, which his friend questioned him about later.

“What was up with you this morning, mate? Just wanted a quiet one?”

“Not really,” Scorpius hesitated. “I feel like your cousins aren’t always too pleased to have me there.”

Albus gave him a knowing look. “You mean Rose.”

Scorpius nodded even though it hadn’t really been a question. The admission made him sheepish.

“Rose is just cautious around new people,” his friend assured him warmly. “It’s just that...”

“I’m a Malfoy.” At the look of protest on Albus’ face, he said hastily: “No, it’s okay — really. I get it. My dad was pretty awful to your family back in the day. She’s testing I’m not like that. That’s fair.”

Albus hummed in a noncommittal manner, and the two continued their brisk walk to the Herbology greenhouses.

Sometimes Scorpius wondered what Rose would do if he did something as simple as asking how her day had been. He had tried such a tact during the first few weeks of his attending Hogwarts, and was given polite but stilted responses. He eventually decided that it was best to leave her be — beyond the interactions, like greetings, that politeness necessitated.

In spite of this, he still caught himself staring on occasion. He found something fascinating about the look of intense concentration that graced her face as she tried to master a _lumos solem_ during Charms class. He thought the expression looked extraordinary, as it flickered in and out of focus in the near-darkness of the classroom, illuminated only by the brief surges of magical light produced by the classmates around her.

_Although the Wolfsbane Potion allows the werewolf to keep their human mind during transformation, a werewolf cannot choose whether or not to transform._


End file.
